


Gravity's call

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 05:24:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Ratchet/Pharma: bad dream, waking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity's call

I'm falling.

Falling down and down

Thrusters aren't firing and I can't change.

Stuck on a one way trip.

I won't survive this.

The ground is getting closer.

This is.

…

It?

“Pharma?”

That's me. And I know that voice.

At least, I think I do.

But it's fading in and out, my processor feels like its been short circuited, data jumping from point to point with no logic.

It takes several tries to boot my optics up. Not that it helps, the shapes are vague and I'm sure I'm processing the same image multiple times, red and white and glowing blue staring down.

“Primus Pharma, you gave us a scare.”

I did?

What did I do?

Where am I?

I should be deactivated, extinguished, a crater in the ground.

Did they catch me?

I reset my optics.

The vague shapes resolve into distinctive shapes, First Aid, Ambulon, Ratchet.

I try to speak, but it takes another reset to lose the static from my vocaliser.

“Where am I?”

Ratchet reaches down and I can feel him take my hand. I tighten my grip. Aware that I shouldn't be able to do that. “We're on board the Lost Light. We had to evacuate Delphi.”

Delphi.

Virus.

Falling.

“Easy.” Ratchet soothes as he waves First Aid and Ambulon away. He knows me far too well. “The virus the Decepticons released was contained.”

Decepticons released? That's not right.

“You managed to find a cure and get it out to First Aid and Ambulon. You just forgot to give it to yourself.” He perches on the edge of my berth, my hand still clasped in his own and I can feel every groove, every dent.

He feels real.

“You've been in stasis for a while, it took that long for the virus to burn through your systems.”

“I.” My fingers tighten. “My memory files are scrambled.”

He smiles, the same quirk of his lips that he would give when I was a student and performed to his rigorous standards in some test, or between busy shifts in Iacon, or last time I saw him, in a makeshift camp on a dead end world before we were assigned to different posts. A real smile, not a fake reassurance for whoever is beneath his tools. "The virus attacked your memory core, it might take a while for you to sort it out." 

I lift my free hand to his face, tracing the edges of his expression and it is almost enough to cover the last memory I have of him. If it is even a memory.

Even so, I still remember falling.


End file.
